


shape of things to come (text)

by lastinthebox



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, shameless texting trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastinthebox/pseuds/lastinthebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're grown men, and they like to text. So what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	shape of things to come (text)

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd! All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Also, I feel obligated to inform this is all lies, lies, lies. And I am actually sorry for writing this (not a lie).

Chris is driving down the 405 when he gets a text from Karl. It’s a picture of Zapp Brannigan, with an obnoxiously long _hahaha!_ attached underneath. He almost crashes into the center divider searching Google Images for a decent screen cap of the Bionic Woman. He’s about to fire it off when the CHP lights up his rearview mirror. 

After he gets home, he sends the text with a caption that reads: _This cost me $159 and traffic school to send. Dick._

::

Three weeks pass, and Chris is at a fundraising gala (“it’s _not_ a goddamn party, you _savage_ ,” says his agent) pretending he cares about Important But Sad Shit when his phone chimes. The other people at the table stare at him like he’s the biggest asshole in the universe, so he knees the table hard as he excuses himself. It hurts like a bitch, but it’s worth it watching all those flutes of champagne more expensive than his mortgage payment topple over.

He heads towards the back exit, loosening up his tie and lighting up a cigarette before he’s even out the door. He pulls his phone out and opens his new text. On his screen is a shitty photo of a heaping plate of food, but it’s got to be the most beautiful thing he’s even seen. Fries smothered in gravy smothered in cheese smothered in sunshine and moonbeams. He’s in the middle of typing it out when a second message from Karl pops up onscreen.

ISN’T IT THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING YOU’VE EVER SEEN?

::

Another two weeks go by, and there’s a message waiting for him when Chris is done sweating his life away at the gym.

Karl is soaking wet and filthy in the photo, covered head to toe in mud and holding up an equally muddy paper target of a bad guy packing a sawed-off shotgun. The bad guy’s dome and chest piece is pretty much blown away with tightly-grouped, ragged holes circled in red ink. _I got to shoot shit today. What did you do?_

Chris can’t help but smile a little bit, and he looks at Karl’s goofy as fuck grin for a while before he responds. _You win._

He saves the picture. 

::

It’s a long night that has him logging on to Yahoo at two in the morning. 

When the site redirects him to the home page, he blinks in sleep-deprived surprise to see a red carpet photo of Karl and his pretty wife looking right back at him. They’re happy and beautiful and all old fucking Hollywood dapper and achingly perfect. It’s a sharp contrast to the story description below. _Trek Actor Karl Urban’s Wife to File for Divorce..._

His fingers fumble a little over the touch screen of his phone, but he finally manages to string together a coherent message. He stays awake until dawn to send it. _You good bro?_

::

Karl’s text comes two days later. _man fuck this_

The response makes Chris’s stomach roll. He doesn’t know how to reply or why he feels so sick, so he saves the message and waits until he can find the right words.

::

He never does.

::

Chris is doing pretty okay at the next Really Fucking Important Function his agent makes him go to. He leaves his phone in the car, puts his tie on and everything. He’s almost having a good time talking to that dude from the zombie show when some blonde chick with whiskey on her breath tells him his eyes are like staring into the sun and tries to bite his ear. He cannot get out of there fast enough.

He’s halfway home when his phone chirps. He waits until he pulls into his driveway before viewing the message, because traffic school almost brought his bored, grown self to tears and that’s not a good look on anyone anytime ever.

_Will Ferrell is at same airport with me. Not with me with me. But general vicinity. Breathing same air._

_Try not to cry._

_Too late_ is Karl’s swift reply.

Chris swallows a laugh, sits in his running car in his driveway in the heat of the night, and wonders why his heart’s racing. He sits for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> First posted to lj's jim_and_bones community June 2013.


End file.
